


You Cannot Bury A Broken Heart

by loki_silvertongue (TheOriginalSilvertongue)



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Daddy Issues, Dark Magic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Other, Post-Avengers Asgard, The Nine Realms, Vikings, Wakes & Funerals, hinting at suicide, just warning you now, this is not very cheerful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOriginalSilvertongue/pseuds/loki_silvertongue
Summary: Loki returns to Asgard to continue cleaning up the mess dark magic has made of Odin and of Asgard. They preside together over Thor and Fandral's funeral.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier in Silvertongue's main story line, Thor and Fandral were killed in the battle against Odin. A solo for my current roleplay arc for the character "Loki Silvertongue".

He stood in the rain for a long time after everyone left the official funeral proceedings. It was a huge event and all of Asgard had turned out as well as entourages from neighboring realms to convey their sympathy on the loss of the Crown Prince. Loki didn’t think anything like this happened when he’d fallen from the Bifrost and was presumed dead. It was a bitter thought that had no place with his grief but he could still taste the flavor of it ringing the sides of his tongue. If only he could spit out the poison of his own ambition like a seed from a fruit. It was a false fruit, alluring with the promise of sweetness, only to yield suffering. The pain increased the hunger instead of diminished it, resulting in the cycle in which brought Loki here. It seemed everything had a turning point, a fulcrum at which events might have unfolded differently. Silvertongue liked to think his intellect and detailed planning revealed to him where those critical moments might lie so that he could make use of them but what logic granted emotion sometimes took away. 

Theories of the multiverse claimed that at every moment, at each juncture, every possible outcome branched out into existence in some parallel universe. Loki wasn't sure that was the case, but it was a small comfort to think that in many possible timelines Frigga, Thor, Kyrmir, Fandral, and Clint all lived. But, like most things that seemed too good to be true, Loki had his doubts. In his experience and by Norse tradition, there were those whose powers and duty it was to manage the threads of fate. They had many names in many cultures and realms but he knew them as The Norns. And he wasn't on the best of terms with them.

He stood until the rain stopped, until the storm passed. In its own way, Loki supposed, the weather mourned the loss of his brother as well. It seemed fitting that Thor’s final voyage be taken under thunderous skies and flashes of lightning. Loki could not have put on a better show for Thor if he’d tried. Winds whipped the flames of the boats, sending them high and bright before they disappeared beyond the lip of the falls into the Sea of Space surrounding Asgard. Hundreds of ships went with them, each a torch of its own. With a pang of ache in his chest, Loki realized this was what Frigga’s funeral would have looked like, too. He hadn’t been allowed to attend that, locked up in Asgard’s dungeons at the time. He would never forgive Odin for that. There was no way to make up for it, no way to grant solace denied on that most important event when they should have stood together as a family. 

Some might say that Loki forfeit his right to be a part of that family with his actions on Midgard, but he defied them to explain how they were any different from what Odin himself had done in days past. Or Thor, coming down to Earth to impress the mortals with a couple of flashes of lightning to be worshiped as a god. Loki was just carrying on a family tradition, yet somehow it was wrong when he did it. He knew now that was because he _wasn’t_ family. So much made sense now with that puzzle piece revealed. He was Laufey’s son, stolen at birth from the defeated King of Jotunheim to be raised to hate his own people. Odin no doubt intended him to rule with an iron fist, further subjugating Jotunheim to Asgard’s will. In a thousand years, the icy realm had not recovered from their last battle with Asgard. His hatred now tempered by knowledge, both academic and personal, Loki did not consider them much of a threat. His attempt at destroying the entire realm had been borne of rage and grief, not at the Jotuns, but at his own family for hiding such a secret from him. It was his own loathing of what he was that drove Loki to lure Laufey to Asgard to slay him, to unleash the Bifrost upon Jotunheim in all its destructive glory. 

Now, standing next to him, was the father he was trying to desperately to impress with all of that. The father who had killed his own son, been responsible for the deaths of all the others—Clint, Kyrmir, Fandral. And Asgard knew none of it. They’d never even hear Clint or Kyrmir’s names. Loki tried to convince himself that it was better this way, that Asgard needed continuity and a sense of security after the dark elf attack. It had been far beyond anyone’s own memory the last time Asgard had been attacked on her own soil. Faith was shaken, people concerned. A weak monarchy was not what would serve Asgard best. For whatever else he might have done or how his own ego and emotion interfered, Loki did bear in mind the good of the realm and its people. Asgard had done just fine during his admittedly brief rules.

Still, it was Odin Loki wanted on the throne instead of himself. He’d been king, known the burden of the crown and no longer wished to bear it. The weight was not worth the benefit to him any longer. Asgard would never see Loki as their savior, just as an outsider. He might as well make use of that status. All his life he’d been told he was born to be a king. Now Loki didn’t know what his path was to be. It could be anything; it could be nothing. Without Thor, Asgard felt empty. Without Clint and Kyrmir, Midgard would feel empty. Any other realm would just be running from that emptiness, trying to fill it with distractions. It was a technique Loki had often practiced to avoid dealing with his emotions but it felt disrespectful now as if he sought to take the memories of his loved ones and brush them under the carpet like unwanted detritus just for his own comfort. That wasn’t how he felt. That wasn’t how he wanted to feel, either.

He had suffered for noble causes before, at the hands of Thanos. Loki may have eventually bent, but he had not allowed the mad Titan access to any information that would compromise the safety of Asgard. He’d not broken. He felt broken now. This was what it took to render Loki ruined and yet he stood regally alongside Odin staring off into space. He wondered what went through the old man’s mind at moments like this, his face so impassive, his one watery blue eye focused inward or outward, Loki couldn’t tell.

The Asgardian skies hung as beautiful as ever, star speckled watercolors, the flow of nebulae painted over what would otherwise be unrelenting blackness. It gave a unique vista that Loki had missed on Earth, looking up into the hazy yellow-gray skies of New York City. There was too much light pollution there to see stars and even if there wasn’t, their skies did not look like these. Beneath them, Loki felt small again, like a boy, with the whole universe spreading out before him, ripe with possibilities. One by one, his actions had put those stars out. They were paths no longer open to him. Down one of those paths lay Thor, Kyrmir, Fandral, Clint, and Frigga. That was the path Loki wanted.

It wasn’t the path he was going to be able to take, not yet. Sodden, dark curls sticking to the side of his angular face, the sole remaining Prince of Asgard turned to its king. Loki’s voice was rough with emotion when he spoke. 

“You will show me all of your workrooms, all of your libraries, all of your supplies. Then you will stay well clear of them. If I so much as catch you _looking_ in their direction, you will regret it. I don’t know how many years you have left in you considering some of the deals you must have made, but I can make sure they are not pleasant years if you defy me. I will be watching.” Loki slicked a hand back through his wet hair, pushing it all back away from his forehead and cheeks. Rivulets ran down his pale skin, mimicking the tears he hadn’t allowed himself this time.

“Asgard needs its king, and that king is not me. I don’t want it to be me. You built this. It is yours. The only way you can make up for your misdeeds is to rule The Nine wisely and fairly. I cannot grant you absolution for what you have done, Father. I don’t know if I will ever be able to forgive.” Loki’s tone had been quiet, somber like the rite before them, but rose as he continued.

“I loved Thor! I loved Fandral. I loved all of them! And you murdered them all. You took what gave the world beauty and meaning in my life and you desecrated it in the name of hubris. That’s all it was! Your _pride_. How dare your sons defy you!” And they had dared, in more ways than one. With Thor, Loki had finally found the acceptance and love he craved. He finally understood what had been missing for so long. They were so much more than brothers, so much more than lovers. Their fates were entwined and always would be. They would always be the two halves of a whole, sun and shadow, dark and light. Loki saw now that it wasn’t a failure on his part to measure up to Thor; it was a balance between them. They flowed like water, each seeping into the cracks of the other until the tide of them rose together. Always strongest together, but not strong enough this time.

“Your love has always been dependent upon obedience, not only with me, but with Thor, too. And I suspect with Mother as well. I thought I was the monster in the family but I was wrong: All this time it’s been _you_ ,” Loki spat, unleashing his serpent’s tongue at last. The potent venom he’d gathered there threatened to corrode the vessel of his mind if he did not release it. Loki knew it would make no difference in the end, would not change the past, but for once in their family, things would be forthright. Frank discussion had never been their forte. Now, there was nothing else left.

If he was going to do this thing he planned after cleansing Odin’s dark magic, Loki did not want to go with unfinished business and unsaid words. He wondered if the dead had regrets or if they felt anything at all. Pain seemed to be the domain of the living. How ironic that attempting to escape that pain through death one should find not only the same agonies, but the inability to do anything to ameliorate them. It was a risk Loki was more and more willing to take. His gaze over the falls bore his desire to disappear into nothingness, ambition deserting him as surely as Thor and Fandral’s bodies had deserted the realm of the living here in Asgard.

To Loki, Asgard was dead. 

There were still others he loved—Sif, Dimitri—but how could he tell them of what he’d done? Of what he was planning? Sif would surely lament that she had not been with them to throw her body among the dead as well. Always the warrior and always loyal to Asgard, Sif would have been torn between her vow to the Allfather and the seeming mutiny of the princes. To spare her that, Loki had made sure she stayed well away from the escalating tensions between father and sons.

Dimitri, ancient as he was, would find Loki’s suffering and loss nothing compared to his own. It wasn’t that the dragon didn’t care; he just had a much greater perspective on things. Like the mortals seemed childlike to the Asgardians, so must Loki seem to Dimitri at times. No, he would not find solace with the dragon nor would he trouble him with what was essentially a family squabble gone horribly wrong. It never should have come to this, never should have gone this far. 

Loki’s mind looped back on itself in spirals of doubt, searching for the one key moment that might have changed everything, that might have made a difference. He didn’t have the vision to identify it among all the threads of fates. Intellect and planning could only do so much. There were so many possible weavings of the future that it took great skill and ability to foretell or even to read the tellings already made. Frigga had possessed that skill; Loki did not. What he did have was a talent for torturing himself with what ifs. It was these ideas that had circled Loki’s mind endlessly, fixated on blame and finding some escape from a reality in which he did not want to reside. So far, he’d found nothing.

“Do what you must,” Odin replied, his tone resigned. “I never could dissuade you from anything you had your mind set on. Loki must have what Loki wants.”

“You think I _wanted_ this?” Loki bristled at the comment, an arm extending toward where the ships had gone over the falls.

“You always twist my words.”

“Your words are twisted enough without my aid,” Loki snapped back, finally turning away from the view before them. He regarded Odin for a moment, the flash of temper cooling just as the air had done around them in the storm. He looked profoundly sad and though Loki hated it, it tugged at his emotions. Try though he might, he still cared about the only father figure he’d ever known. Despite everything he’d done, Loki still wanted to find some peace with Odin. Thor would have wanted it, and for Loki to ensure the safety of Asgard under him. He put a hand on Odin’s shoulder.

“We are both victims of our own choices. I recognize that. I, of all people, should know what it is like to bear the consequences of intentions and actions that spun beyond control. This is as close as I can come to forgiveness right now. Perhaps understanding is better than forgiveness though?” It was what Loki had always wanted. To be understood and to be valued for what he truly was, despite not knowing the truth of it at the time himself. Now, he wasn’t sure what he truly was other than a mess.

“I will do what I can to right things. To do that fully, you must keep away. I know the lure the dark magic exerts; I feel it too. You are already susceptible to it. If it gets a hold on you again, I do not know if anything can keep it from consuming you.” Loki didn’t have any more vials of the dragon’s blood to spare for additional miracles. He only had what was left in his system and even that would run out soon. Time was of the essence if he wanted to leverage the boon it granted to his power. Loki also didn’t know if it would give him enough for a second fight against Odin. The losses had been devastating enough the first time. If he failed again, all would be lost. Odin would become again that bloodthirsty conqueror Loki had seen revealed in the painting on the throne room ceiling, possibly even with Hela joining him again. If Odin didn’t kill him outright in the battle then, he surely would afterwards. A throne won in that way could not risk a usurper. The only reason Odin hadn’t killed Hela, Loki was certain of it, was because he _couldn’t_.

If only Thor had been so lucky.

“If you are tainted further…” Loki’s hand dropped and his gaze met Odin’s. Loki’s expression was hard, his eyes steady with resolve, fists clenched at his sides. If the dark magic grew within Odin again, Loki would have no choice.

“I _will_ kill you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Odin was sequestered in the safest, most benevolent place Loki could think of: Frigga's quarters. There was still something more haunting Loki's mind about his mother, though. When he and Thor had visited to make use of the healing rooms after Loki tricked Thor into crushing his arm with Mjolnir to make a point, they had heard rumors of Frigga's ghost being seen in the palace. Such tales were not so uncommon after the death of a well known, well loved figure such as the Queen of Asgard, but after confirming that Odin was meddling with even darker powers than Loki ever expected, he had his doubts about it being merely a rumor.

They'd investigated what little they could without making it obvious that they were on to Odin's secret workings. It hadn't yielded anything certain but Loki still had a bad feeling about it. The timing had been too coincidental to be dismissed as the wishful thinking of those who missed her. Their descriptions of her also didn't fit that pattern. Usually those kinds of figments of the imagination were peaceful. They were the wish fulfillment of grieving minds and granted them solace. The content of these visions was much more about what needed to be seen, rather than any actual hauting. Loki didn't believe in hauntings, not when Frigga, of all people, must surely be in Valhalla with the honored dead.

No, this felt like something more sinister and much more tangible. And the only person who could answer the horrible questions Loki had was Odin. It felt like a desecration doing it in her own Chambers, the place in which she'd spent so much time teaching Loki the very magic he may very well now need to use against her. It would not truly be her, of course, it would be more like the risen minions of the death goddess, Hela, which Odin had revealed depicted on the ceiling of the throne room. It was a gruesome and bloody history of Asgard of which Odin was now ashamed. He'd ordered it covered with peaceful depictions of a prosperous Asgard, at peace with it's neighbors. It showed Odin, Laufey, Frigga, Thor, Sif, the Warriors Three, and even Loki. There was no trace of Hela, Odin's unruly firstborn. He'd locked her away and wiped her from history, such was his power. If he could do that to his own child without the influence of dark magic upon him, what monstrosities might he commit with its aid? Loki truly feared asking for the truth of what he found would be his responsibility to deal with.

It wouldn't be Frigga, he reminded himself again. It might bear her form but it would not truly be her. Loki took a deep breath and stepped into her quarters. He was immediately overcome by a sense of nostalgia and almost expected to see his mother getting ready to go out into her gardens or tending to her weaving. What Loki saw instead was the silhouette of Odin against the blue skies of Asgard as he stood out on her high balcony. Loki had taken a leap of faith once from that very balcony when learning to master his hawk form. Some of his shape shifting ability was innate, mostly in the form of mimicry, but to truly change form without losing oneself took practice. Then learning to operate in the new form had to be done. Most people had no idea how truly difficult it was since Loki had managed a form of it even in infancy. That had likely been a survival instinct. It was that survival instinct Loki had been hoping to trigger again as he flung himself off the balcony in his newly attained hawk form. He needed to fly.

Even now, Odin's ravens, Hugin and Munin, remained loyal at his side. They were magical constructs not real birds, but Loki did not think they were entirely Odin's work. Loki always had the sense that Odin had tricked them into serving him or that he'd somehow stolen or won them. Loki hated those black-feathered menaces and shooed them away as he approached. They always seemed to look at him like they knew something about him that they weren't telling and like they'd be very pleased to pick the meat off of his carcass should they be given the opportunity. They were creepy and always had been to Loki. 

"Before I start, I need to know what I am going to find in your quarters and workrooms. I need to know what to expect, whether you have any traps set, and whether there are minions of which I need to be aware." That would give Odin the opening he needed to confess several things about which Loki was wary. Frigga was at the top of his list, though.

"I have heard rumors. I'd like to either confirm or empirically deny them." Facts didn't always mean much to those who loved to gossip but Loki couldn't bear Asgard finding out something worse had become of their beloved queen. Or what Loki might have to do to give her peace. She deserved her dignity, untainted by all of this.

"Minions?" Odin chuckled darkly. "You just scared them off."

"You're lucky I didn't kill them like I usually do," Loki shot back, not in the mood for evasions. Odin meant his ravens, Hugin and Munin, which Silvertongue did make a sport out of killing at every opportunity. They were magical constructs, so they never stayed dead, but it was satisfying nevertheless to blind the Allfather a little more by robbing him of his spies Loki always had liked his privacy. "I mean other minions. The sort that might be created with necromancy. We saw Hogun and Volstagg. I don't know what you did to them but they were no longer themselves."

“Hogun and Volstagg will be fine once you have cleansed my contamination from them,” Odin sighed. More and more he looked weary, not at all like the vengeful dark god he’d been on Midgard. Loki felt like he was witnessing a waning and though he hated it, it stirred emotion in him. “They are not the only ones but you will no doubt find the others. Any who came to me with too many questions, who watched too closely, were put under my control.” He offered Loki a tentative smile. “Your friends are more loyal to you than I think you know. They were difficult to bend to my will and always a risk. I tried not to send them anywhere near you.”

“And they found us anyway,” Loki smiled back, shaking his head. The Warriors Three certainly could be quite tenacious. Volstagg and Hogun would be saddened to hear of Fandral’s passing. Loki hadn’t seen them at the funeral, no doubt by Odin’s order. Others would have noticed that omission as well. Some excuse would have to be made explaining why they were not able to attend. Loki regretted that was the case, as they would no doubt later wish they could have been there to send off their prince and their friend with the respect they deserved. Loki knew what it felt like to be denied that. He’d been in the dungeons during Frigga’s funeral, not even told of her passing until it was too late to attend.

“And Frigga?” Loki asked bluntly.

Odin blinked, visibly recoiling. “What about your mother?”

“I’ve heard things. Things that concern me. Things specifically about her.” A chill ran down Loki’s spine. “Father, tell me I do not need to worry about her.”

Odin shook his head sadly. “You said no more lies, my son. You can’t have it both ways. Do you wish to know? My memories are hazy and shrouded but I can tell you what I have.”

Loki let out a heavy sigh and took a seat, his face cradled in his hands for a moment before he pushed black curls back away from his face again. “I have to know.” He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to deal with any of this, but if not him, then who would? There were none he would trust to do so in his stead anyhow. He said it again. “I have to know.” 

“You and Thor both were a great disappointment to me after you fled Asgard and escaped me.” Odin grimaced as he said the words. “I especially wished to keep you. I thought that by implicating Thor in my heinous crimes, he would be bound to me. That it would cause a rift between the two of you. I knew you wouldn’t remember but Thor did and I knew it would eat him alive. All because I wanted you back, Loki.”

Loki thought he might be sick. Cold prickled over his skin and his heart pounded. “Back for what?” he managed to whisper. He wanted to know this answer even less than the previous one. 

“To make a new heir. You were in your heat, I could smell it. You could be fertile and you’re no true kin of mine. In my twisted mind, it was perfect. I could consolidate the House of Odin in you. I could kill Thor and keep you hostage with threats to the young you bore me. They would be my heirs, not yours. The time had come for you to fulfill your purpose.”

“No,” Loki protested immediately. “That’s not what you meant that day in the weapons vault. That was not my purpose.” His face furrowed with doubt and disgust. “You said a permanent peace through me!”

“I also said those plans no longer mattered,” Odin reminded him. “Things spun beyond even my control. Your mother, she wasn’t supposed to die. Not protecting a mortal. It was me she always worried about. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He was clearly still crushed by the loss. Loki was too. 

“And so you sought to undo it. To right a wrong?” Loki squinted at him, trying to connect all the pieces. They fell into shape and the grotesque picture they made had him back on his feet, fighting himself not to flee. “Thor and I escaped and you knew we weren’t coming back. You shouldn’t have needed me in the first place. Frigga’s death was wrong. You should have had her with you.” If he’d had Frigga with him, Loki would wager none of this would have happened. He was trying to work through the twisted logic of Odin’s darkened mind, though. “It was wrong and you could fix it. By fixing it, you also got what you needed.” Loki shuddered. His voice was cold and piercing when he finally asked the question.

_“What did you do?”_

Odin shook his head, looking miserable. Loki stepped closer, menacing in his agitation. “What. Did. You. Do?” he repeated. 

“If you kill me now, you will have to be king, you know,” Odin reminded his youngest son. “You also won’t get to hear the rest of what I have to tell you.”

“I don’t know if I want to hear it all,” Loki moaned, his face in his hands again. 

Odin sounded strangely alight when he continued. “I brought her back, Loki. I did it. I was so worried she would come back wrong, but she was beautiful.” Loki looked up just in time to see the beatific smile drop from the Allfather’s face. “It wasn’t Frigga, though. It was just a shell. Some of her awareness remained, some of her memories, but it wasn’t her. I didn’t have the heart to-” He took a shaky breath. “I couldn’t.”

Loki didn’t want to know specifically what it was Odin couldn’t do. He had plenty of guesses and none of them were good. It hardly mattered now. “What did you do to her?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Loki wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly.

“Well, nothing more than what I’d already done. I couldn’t bear to do anything more. I was caught in a trap of my own making.”

“So she’s here still? WHERE?!” Loki’s voice boomed through the chambers. 

Odin made a pained noise. “I couldn’t stand to see her. I eventually locked her away.”

It was Loki’s turn to let out a cry of anguish. “Where?! Tell me!” He had to get to her, to help her. He was ready to shake an answer out of Odin if he would not provide it willingly. 

“Beneath the palace, there are catacombs filled with the honored dead slain during my conquests with Hela. You will find your mother’s revenant among them.”

Loki was up before Odin even finished speaking. He already had a plan forming in his head. He would tear the palace down if it meant getting to Frigga. “How do I get there? Quickly!”

Odin waved an arm toward the center of the palace. “The weapons vault. It is beneath the weapons vault. Take Gungnir and activate the Destroyer. The entrance lays behind where it stands its vigil.” 

“But the Destroyer only obeys the rightful king of Asgard!”

“And were you not the rightful king of Asgard?” Odin chided gently. “Could you not be again if you so chose? It will obey you, Loki. Go now and tell your mother I am sorry. I only wanted to be with her again.”

“You’ll have to wait a bit longer for that.” Loki’s tone was gentle enough to surprise even himself. “I’m sure she will understand. She always did.”

“Yes, she did,” Odin agreed sadly before Loki left the room at a dead run.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt strange to have Gungnir in his hands again. It was the third time Loki had wielded Odin’s spear, the second time lawfully so. With Thor banished and Odin fallen into the Odinsleep, Frigga had presented it to Loki, making him the rightful king of Asgard. It was Gungnir he’d fought Thor with; it was Gungnir to which they’d both clung over the chasm of the wormhole created by the Bifrost’s destruction. Gungnir had saved Thor. Loki had let go and fallen.

Loki again held the spear after returning from Svartalfheim. Disguised as an Einherjar, Loki himself had delivered the news of his own alleged death to Odin. Coupled with the recent loss of his queen, the rebellion of his favored son, and the attack on Asgard, it had all been too much for the Allfather and he’d fallen once again into the Odinsleep he’d put off for too long. Loki hadn’t expected that but acted quickly to conceal the fact, taking Odin’s place upon the throne while he slept. Odin eventually woke and in exchange for a pardon from his sentence of everlasting incarceration in Asgard’s dungeons, Loki accepted banishment to Midgard and relinquished the throne to retain his titles and powers.

Now, Gungnir was rightfully in his possession again but Loki had his doubts as he sprinted to the weapons vault beneath Asgard’s golden palace. He dismissed the guards outside of it. If Frigga was to be found as Odin said, none in Asgard needed to know of it. The Destroyer stood guard at the far end of the vault near the Eternal Flame that was prophesied to light the sword of Surtur the fire giant so he could bring about Ragnarok and the destruction of Asgard. It was an important relic, said to have been stolen from the ruler of Muspelheim by Odin at the dawn of time in order to defeat the prophesy. 

Loki’s heart was already pounding when he banged the base of the spear against the stone floor of the vault. It rang out, summoning the Destroyer. A tense moment passed when nothing happened. Loki’s doubt flared, his brows furrowing into a scowl. Of all the times for the enchanted armor to not heed his command! Then, slowly, with a deep grating noise, the wall before him retracted, revealing the immense, shining metal form of the Destroyer. It stepped forward, awaiting instruction.

“Ensure no one passes. Not even the Allfather. Especially not the Allfather,” Loki commanded. The Destroyer swung around and took up a new post facing the entrance to the vault. Loki took that as a confirmation of his order and slipped behind it to the secret passageway Odin told him about. As usual, Odin neglected to share a few details regarding the entrance to what lay beneath the vault. It was not a passageway as Loki expected, but a hatch in the floor. It was ornately wrought and protected by both physical and magical locks. It reminded Loki of some of the safeguards on Odin’s library that he’d defeated one by one when he was younger. He had a sneaking suspicion that Odin knew about it and had put them there on purpose to test him. They steadily grew in difficulty and this appeared to be the most difficult yet. Loki didn’t have time to spend solving puzzles like he’d once done and growled at the Allfather once again withholding critical information. It was clearly such a habit that he couldn’t help himself or his memory was simply not what it used to be and he’d forgotten about it. Loki refused to believe it was malicious in this case but it frustrated him, nevertheless. Frigga was down there and he needed to get to her as quickly as possible.

Hours later, Loki was about ready to storm back to where Odin was sequestered and demand to be told how to release the door that blocked him from entering the lower vault. Pride stopped him. He didn’t want to admit to Odin that he couldn’t figure it out. He could, it was just taking too long. He had part of it done. The physical puzzle of touching the carvings was easily enough sorted out if one knew the legend of the Eternal Flame. The carvings on the hatch depicted Odin in Muspelheim, stealing the flame from Surtur and returning it to Asgard. There was a repeating pattern of shapes throughout the carving that served as a hint and from the numerous runes inscribed there.

_Reiðr_  
Auga  
Gríma  
Niðrikn  
Allharðr  
Ráð  
Ógleði  
Kynligr 

Loki touched in order the ones whose names both spelled out ‘Ragnarok’ and followed a line to draw a larger copy of the same shape. The runes on the hatch lit up and there was a deep, booming click signaling the release of the locks. Now, he only had to unravel the magical protections.

There were two ways to go about that. Loki could attempt to unbind the protections placed there, as he’d done with Odin’s library puzzles, or Loki could attempt to defeat them by guessing what workaround or backdoor Odin may have included for his own use. He had some ideas for the latter and trying a few of them wouldn’t take much time. If he had no success, then he could begin the unbinding, which would take much longer. Odin was one of the most powerful sorcerers in the Nine Realms. In Loki’s experience, however, that didn’t mean his spells were undefeatable. Odin would have left himself a way to use the door without having to remove all of the complicated magic he’d protected it with. A magical hack, of sorts. These were frequently a spoken word or phrase, amusingly similar to the Midgardian tale of ‘Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves’, in which the words ‘open sesame’ granted access to the cave in which the thieves had hidden their treasure. In principle, it was the same thing. Many Midgardian legends and stories had some basis in fact, but the humans had long forgotten what had originally inspired them and so the clues were scattered.

The first thing Loki tried was his mother’s name. Frigga had been Odin’s wife and whatever else Odin might have done, he loved her. Of that, Loki was certain. It didn’t work. Loki then tried Thor’s name. No success. With a wry laugh, he tried his own name. Unsurprisingly, that didn’t work either. Neither did Odin’s name or the next ten names Loki plucked from legend and history. With a sigh, he crouched down and examined the door again for clues. Making random guesses was not likely to solve the puzzle anytime soon. 

He’d been studying the carvings again for some time, moving around them to view from different angles when Loki noticed a new pattern. The name of the realm was engraved at the cardinal points of the circular hatch. Loki’s mind tumbled that information, trying to shake out the meaning of it. Directions, locations, the square that connecting the names made… He ran his hand through his hair and stood, pacing as the options recombined, broke, formed new connections as he analyzed them. 

Then it clicked.

Four times. Asgard was written four times. Loki barked out a laugh at the utter simplicity of it. He’d been looking for something complicated to decipher or guess. Part of Odin’s cleverness was in the unexpected. In that way, Loki very much took after his adopted father. They had more in common than either of them readily admitted.

“For Asgard!” Loki called out triumphantly.

The hatch opened.

Conjuring his green-tinted witchlight, Loki peered down into the darkness below. A spiral staircase led down into the depths beneath the vault. With a glance back at the Destroyer, Loki descended. The staircase was immense, stairs numbering in the hundreds or more. At one point, Loki wondered if there was actually a bottom to them. When he reached it, he widened his arms overhead and sent the witchlights in both directions to illuminate a wider area. In every direction for as far as he could see lay dead Asgardian soldiers. 

They still wore their armor, laid upon stone biers with arms clasped over their chests. Many of them still held their weapons, their faces withered in the distinctive helms of the Einherjar. This was the graveyard of the troops who had marched with Odin and Hela on their original conquest of the Nine Realms. These Asgardians gave their lives to build what Loki and Thor had taken for granted. They hadn’t known about Asgard’s bloody past, just the stories they’d been told—the sanitized tales told by an imperial victor. Asgard wasn’t a violent conqueror, it was a peacekeeper, a caretaker and parent to the Nine Realms. Loki snorted. They’d been fools to believe that. This was the truth of it and there really could be no other way. He should have known. 

Hidden away beneath the weapons vault, no one remembered any of these soldiers anymore. Their glory was lost, their honor forgotten, their sacrifice unmarked. It was unfair even if they did feast nightly in Valhalla. Their names should be revered in Asgard, not tucked away like some dirty secret. Loki began to walk among them. Their names weren’t even marked. This was one colossal mass grave, anonymous. These hadn’t been people to Odin for him to do this; they were just bodies. Loki was thoroughly disgusted by the time he came upon a large dark shape blocking the wide center walkway. He summoned more light and circled it.

It was Hela’s enormous wolf, the one he’d seen in the painting. It could be no other. And now it too lay here, forgotten. Loki pitied the poor beast but there was nothing he could do for it now. Eyes straining in the darkness, Loki searched for some sign of Frigga. 

It was Frigga who found him. 

Loki heard her before he saw her. 

“Loki?” Her voice was viscous. Not at all the voice Loki remembered soothing him but familiar enough. This made the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stand up. He whirled around, Gungnir still in his hand. Frigga stepped forward into the viridescent light of Loki’s magic. 

Odin hadn’t lied; she was still beautiful. Loki’s breath caught in his throat as he beheld her but he could tell something was amiss. Not only should Frigga not be in this place, she should not sound like a leaden husk of herself. The light within her that had always been so effervescent was gone. Another thing Odin hadn’t lied about. This was a shell, but Loki’s eyes welled up and his throat thickened all the same. He swallowed hard.

“Hello, mother,” he greeted her, his own voice throaty with emotion. 

“Loki,” she said again and reached for him. 

Loki flinched away and was instantly ashamed of himself for it.

“Come and have your bath,” Frigga said, her eyes seeming to look through him. She recognized him, yet at the same time, she did not. “You and Thor have been outside playing all day. Dinner will be soon.”

Loki was also ashamed at the noise he made in response. It was a sort of choked whimper. He tried to bite it off, but it threatened to explode him if he held it in entirely. He made himself stand firm as Frigga approached. She reached up and touched his hair and Loki held his breath. Gungnir clanged to the floor from his nerveless hand. Frigga didn’t even flinch, like she couldn’t even hear it.

“Always so unruly,” she smiled as she tucked a strand of it back behind his ear. Even in undeath, this was his mother. Loki harbored so much guilt and regret at their last words. He’d rejected her then, saying that she was not his mother since Odin was not his father. More concerned about his logic and his pain at discovering his true heritage than her feelings, he’d spoken out of spite. He wished he hadn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” Loki blurted, taking her hands in his. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll comb the knots out,” she replied with benevolent vacancy.

“Do you remember what I said?” Loki asked, his pitch rising. His heart thundered in his chest and he felt if he let himself start shaking, he might bring the whole palace down with it. “I said you were not my mother. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re a silly boy,” Frigga told him, shaking her head. “Of course I’m your mother.”

“Yes, I am,” Loki agreed with a breathless laugh. He wasn’t getting through to her. It didn’t matter if this wasn’t really Frigga. He hoped perhaps some of it would sink in somehow. “And you are. You _are_ my mother.”

“You’re getting so tall.”

“Mother?” He was losing her, her focus wandering. Frigga didn’t respond, her hands going lax in his. “Mother?” She just stared. Loki made up his mind then that the conversation was over. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

Frigga started like she’d just woken up, eyes snapping to his face. “No, Loki.” Her words echoed Odin’s at that fateful moment when he’d dangled from the Bifrost. Loki glanced down at the spear from which he’d hung. His face crumpled, and he shook his head. 

“What do you mean no? We have to go. Mother, please.”

“You were always so sensitive,” she noted. Loki didn’t know if she was musing on the past again and he tugged gently at her hands to draw her along. She resisted. 

“Mother…” 

“But never a coward, Loki.” 

Now Loki was scared. “What are you saying?” He forced the words out even though they scraped his throat raw to do it. He didn’t think he wanted to hear the answer. 

“You look so regal with your father’s spear. Such a handsome king. You saved him.”

That had happened years ago. Loki had lured his biological father, Laufey, King of Jotunheim, to Asgard under the pretense of allowing him to murder Odin. Then, instead, Loki had murdered Laufey, staging it to look like he’d prevented an assassination attempt by the frost giants. It was the justification he needed for the next step of his plan, which was to unleash the full power of the Bifrost upon Jotunheim and wipe them out entirely. They would never threaten Asgard again, Loki’s true heritage would never be known, and he would be a hero to Asgard, saving both the Allfather and preventing war. He would be worthy. Frigga was drifting off in the past again. Loki tugged harder and considered even carrying her. 

“We must go,” he insisted, still holding her hands. He didn’t dare let go. He could come back for Gungnir later if he had to.

“Pick it up,” Frigga said.

“What?”

“Your father’s spear. Pick it up.”

“I don’t need it. I can get it later. Just come with me. Please.” He was dangerously close to begging at this point and Loki didn’t care.

“You know what you need to do, Loki.” Frigga sounded as patient as always. She’d been his teacher for so long, his mentor when no one else took interest or cared. “Pick it up.”

“No!” he cried out, shaking his head violently. Black curls tumbled into his face. “I can- I can fix this. I can do something!” If he just didn’t let go, everything would be alright. Letting go had been a mistake.

She twisted from his grasp and bent to pick up the spear. Taking his hand with hers to hold Gungnir, she placed the point of it beneath her sternum. Loki gasped and tried to pull away. Her grip was unrelenting. “Loki, this is the only way,” Frigga insisted. “Not everything can be undone.”

“No...” Loki moaned in anguish. This wasn’t why he’d come here. “Father says he’s sorry. That he wants to be with you. Mother, please!”

“Your father will see me again soon enough,” Frigga smiled, reaching her free hand up to cup Loki’s cheek. Her face twisted and her form warped into something hideous Loki recognized instantly. The hand at his cheek was pale, waxen, bearing two thumbs, and a hood partially hid the creature’s face. There was no disguising the cage over his face, though, or those vicious teeth Loki knew all too well. The Other, Thanos’ henchman, the orchestrator of Loki’s torture after he’d fallen into the Void. The very same creature who had invaded his mind with the Mind Gem, twisting it and preying on his every fear and insecurity. His heart froze, a silent scream shaped in his mouth, and then The Other spoke. Its sibilant voice was the stuff of Loki’s nightmares. “I told you we’d find you, Asgardian.”

A bright discharge of magic flashed forth from Gungnir’s tip and the creature flew backwards. Loki pursued it, raising the spear high overhead to drive it down through its body until there was nothing left but a smear of blood upon the stones. What he found several feet away was not The Other, however. Breathing labored, Frigga laid upon the ground before him, a wide scorch mark on her dress ringing a gaping wound. 

Loki fell to his knees next to her. “No, no, no, no! Mother, I’m sorry!” He tried to cradle her into his arms but she winced. “It was a mistake! I didn’t mean-” 

“It’s alright,” Frigga rasped, reaching out to pat his forearm. “You saw exactly what I needed you to see. You learned your tricks from me, remember.” She tried to smile. It ended up more of a grimace.

“Why?!” Loki demanded, sobs starting to make his chest heave. Tears spilled over and tracked down his cheeks.

“You know why, Loki. Trust me that you’ve done the right thing.”

“I don’t want to do the right thing!” he wailed.

“Neither do I,” Frigga agreed with a wracking cough. “Tell your father and your brother that I love them.” She coughed again, much weaker this time. Her breaths were short gasps now. Loki tried to sit her up. She didn’t know Thor was dead and he couldn’t tell her. Not now. 

“I’ll tell them, mother,” he vowed.

“And Loki,” her voice was barely a whisper, “I always loved you. Always.” 

“I love you too,” Loki gasped as her final breath rattled forth and she stilled. For a moment there was nothing. It felt like his own heart stopped with her breathing. In the ringing silence of the tomb, the witchlights faltered and flickered out, leaving them in utter darkness. 

It was then that Loki screamed out his grief until his voice was hoarse and he could do no more than hiss. He sat with her for hours, until he had no more tears, until his throat had already healed itself, until he could control his seiðr again. In the pale, sickly light of a single orb, Loki laid Frigga’s body to rest upon one of the unoccupied stone biers, along with all the others who had given their lives for Asgard. Her name would not be forgotten, unlike all the rest here, but none would know of Odin’s sacrilege or what Loki had been forced to do to rectify it. Secrets begat more and more secrets and now they were all culpable, all entangled. Loki wished he could burn the entire place to the ground to cleanse it. 

“I have more work to do,” he told his mother before leaving her there, alone in the dark. “But I will see you and Thor soon, I hope.” Loki still had no guarantee of Valhalla, where he assumed Frigga and his brother would be, but even Hel had to be better than remaining. 

Taking up Gungnir once more, Loki let the ice numb him again before he ascended back to the land of the living.

“It is done,” he informed Odin coldly and didn’t turn back at what sounded like his father weeping.


	4. To Vaniquish Darkness Is To Know It

Odin kept many secret rooms within the palace; this was not news to Loki. He was starting to realize, however, that the Allfather’s secrets were far more extensive than he ever imagined. Loki had worked his way through two workrooms already. He sorted the items into groups by type and then went through them meticulously. Odin had been collecting for so long and with so little organization that Loki suspected he didn’t even know what all he possessed. That was one of the traps of dark magic. It got inside you and drove you for more and more. It became an obsession and Odin had most definitely been obsessed.

He was obsessed even now. Loki could tell it was driving him mad being kept away from these places and the things they contained. Odin sent notes and messages several times a day. Loki responded to none of them. Odin remained sequestered, though, and did not break his word to stay away from what Loki was doing. Loki could just tell that the Allfather still felt the pull of the dark magic upon him. He was no doubt concerned about what would become of his collection. He should know that Loki was taking the utmost care to ensure each piece was handled correctly. 

This room, for example, was mostly books. There had been a few shelves of artifacts and a number of shelves of supplies, mostly harmless. Loki had five groups set apart to send to different realms, as well as a few other piles of things, like items that required more study, and items that could be destroyed. It was Loki’s intention to destroy as little as possible, but some things just weren’t safe under any circumstances. He didn’t intend to make putting this collection back together again easy at all. Within the five groups destined to be taken from Asgard, there were five more groups, each to be sent to a different corner of the destination realm. Loki’s hobby of cartography came in handy making the decisions of what should go where. It would go where it was unlikely to be found, difficult to use, and almost impossible to match back to any of the other pieces in the collection. 

As Frigga had said, it was the right thing to do.

Loki couldn’t stop thinking about her. “Some things cannot be undone,” she’d told him. More and more, Loki was starting to hear this as “But there are things which _can_ be undone, if you just know how.” Loki could attempt what Odin had tried – to resurrect her. He could maybe even do so for Thor or one of the others, but how was he supposed to make that decision? He caught himself not just sorting through Odin’s belongings, but reading them cover to cover. This was knowledge he was likely to never see again and while he wasn’t studying every aspect of it, Loki did skim for topics that interested him in particular: resurrection was chief among them. He was no necromancer and the more he learned about the art, the less appealing it became. He’d had enough of obedient but stupid minions. The Chitauri army had more than fulfilled any need he’d had for that. There was much more to necromancy that simply summoning shuffling undead servants, however. To properly cleanse Odin of the taint of his dabblings in the dark arts, Loki needed to understand what he was dealing with. It was a good thing he was a quick study.

Each night, he visited Odin and worked more on the cleansing, the day’s studies still fresh in his mind. This pattern continued for weeks on end. They were making progress, but slowly. The longer he worked on it, the more convinced Loki was that he knew exactly what he was going to do once he’d finished. He was going to try to join Thor, Fandral, and Frigga. It was a long shot, but remaining here without them was guaranteed failure. Who knew—since he was a Jotun, he might end up with Kyrmir. That idea pleased Loki as well. In all, death sounded appealing. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him. After all the struggle to stay alive and defeat Odin that he should decide to take his own life seemed like a waste. Loki’s legacy would be unknown to Asgard. He would avert a dark future they never even knew they risked and then he would find a way to make himself history. It was a lethargic sort of resolve, unlike his usual manic focus. It loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, a sure storm coming.

Late one night, after spending hours with the Allfather, Loki returned to the current workroom he was sorting through. He’d taken to just sleeping in them, what little he did sleep. He didn’t dare take the materials from the rooms for fear of contaminating anything else with them. On a broad couch, he stretched out, an arm over his eyes as he closed them to rest them. He didn’t mean to fall asleep. In his dreams the dead came to haunt him. Frigga blamed him, Thor and Kyrmir pleaded with him, Clint shook his head with disappointed disapproval, and Fandral laughed at him. Loki awoke with a start, heart pounding. He sat up, cradling his face in his hands until his breathing calmed. He knew they were just dreams, manifestations of his own guilt rather than actual hauntings, but that didn’t make them feel any less real. Unwilling to slip back into the trap of sleep, he picked up another book at random and started reading. 

A third of the way through _Vitsmunir Hvíslanna_ , or ‘Wit of the Whispers’, Loki nearly dropped the book. His hands began to shake as he re-read the description of a spell called _Nithe Ontkenning_ —‘The Negation of Failures’. It was described as an incantation that would allow the caster to project his own consciousness to himself at a specific point in his own history. The intention of the spell was to change a single decision or moment and thus change some future event that had turned out badly. The battle with Odin certainly qualified as that. Nithe Ontkenning enabled a mage to go back and whisper advice in his own ear, so to speak. It was a subtle working, nothing like changing time itself or actual mind control, just an attempt at influence, and was limited to the mage’s own mind and timeline. His mind started to spin with the possibilities and he kept reading.

Loki’s excitement was dampened when he reached the part of the spell explaining the cost of it. All magic had a cost. That cost could be physical, mental, energetic, or some combination thereof, but there was no such thing as free magic. The more powerful the spell, the higher the cost. All magic was constrained in this way and this spell was no exception. Tampering with timelines was expensive. Since this was dark magic, the spell required sacrifice, specifically that the caster give up ‘something valued more than life itself’ and that thing could not be a paradoxical thing. For example, a mage could not sacrifice his wife in order to cast the spell to go back and influence a moment that would result in a timeline where that sacrifice was undone and his wife remained unharmed. It was the intention of the spell to cost dearly and cost in blood. Time loops and sacrifices were permanent. If a dark mage slew his own child to power a spell, The Norns did not make refunds, and the spell was not even guaranteed to work. It was a _chance_ to influence, not a guarantee of change. Very expensive, indeed. There were other requirements that were not so dire, but Loki did not pay them much heed. The ability to project his consciousness and form was something he’d learned from Frigga long ago, so he stood a good chance at being successful at that part. Also, thanks to the lingering influence from the Mind Gem housed in the Chitauri scepter Loki had wielded on Midgard, Silvertongue retained an enhanced ability to influence others’ thoughts, though he rarely used it. He feared that if he ever opened up his mind to another now, since Thanos had broken into his, he might never be able to fully protect himself again. It was not a risk he was generally willing to take when there were other ways to do what he needed done. He’d escaped Thanos’ control, but the cost had been high. Now Loki felt like he would forever be compromised by it.

There was nothing Loki had anymore that he valued more than life itself. He didn’t even value his own life enough to keep it. He couldn’t power the spell with a sacrifice of what he didn’t have, and that wasn’t the sort of currency he could go out and simply acquire. The sentiment and the sacrifice would have to be genuine; there was no trickery or faking in such things. In his current state of mind, it was not likely to happen naturally. Loki didn’t even know if he was capable of caring about someone else that much still. He felt like his heart was so splintered it couldn’t possibly be intact enough to love like that again.

Yes, he loved Thor. He’d always loved Thor. He’d loved them all in their different ways and realized now what a rich man he’d become with that. That knowledge just reinforced Loki’s decision to end it all when he’d completed Odin’s cleansing. Loki even loved Odin still, but he refused to admit it. That love was stained and torn, ripped to shreds by recent events, but beneath that lay a thousand years of Loki desperately seeking Odin’s love and approval. Silvertongue didn’t think it qualified for the necessary sacrifice, however. There was no purity in it anymore. His love for Odin wasn’t a shining gem; it was a wound.

With a sigh, Loki closed the tome and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. How like the Norns to tempt him with the exact thing he needed when he hadn’t the means of using it. They were spiteful bitches, he’d always maintained that. The three of them were the Norse goddesses of fate, and Loki thought they had a sick sense of humor. This just proved that belief once again. Loki was tired of all of this. He could feel the same darkness that lured Odin in and captured him grasping at his own psyche. Fighting it off every minute of every day was starting to take a toll. He had dreams about the magic, about using it and letting his grief wash the Nine Realms in blood. It whispered in his mind lies about suffering and power. Loki just had to remind himself they were lies, but that got more and more difficult as time went on. It was a race now and the reward for winning would be his own death. 

Another two weeks passed and Loki was nearly finished with the final cache of Odin’s materials. Shipments had already been sent off to various locations to hide what he’d collected, scattering it across the Nine Realms and further. What few things could not be risked to allow to exist, Loki destroyed, even though it pained him to do so. Knowledge, even forbidden, dangerous knowledge, was to be protected. In this case, it was a choice between protecting the future of the realms and its people or protecting the knowledge. There were things that would have to be forgotten or stricken from the record. Some of the artifacts Loki couldn’t destroy. One in particular, a small chest of carved bone, could be nothing other than a soul jar, or _hirðasál_ , as the Æsir called it. After consulting with Odin to ensure it hadn’t been used, Loki sealed it away and hid it so that none other might attempt immortality with dark magic. He’d been interested in that very thing himself for most of his life; now, he didn’t care.

In the final shipment to be disbursed, Loki thumbed through a tome that he was debating on including. It alone wasn’t particularly associated with dark magic; it was merely a book on the mechanics of magic. It had a misleading title—‘The Netherbane Equivalence Syllabus’—which was likely how it had ended up in Odin’s collection. Loki doubted Odin had even consulted it, otherwise he might have transferred it to the royal library himself already. The idea struck Loki like a physical blow and he sat down abruptly. His hand rested on the passage that had so engaged his mind suddenly:

_In a magical exchange, an equivalency may be achieved when the medium of exchange is not strictly defined._

As a trickster and a mage, Loki knew this principle but coming across it now, in the context of his recent discovery of the Nithe Ontkenning spell, it had new meaning to him. _He could do this._ If there was a loophole to be found, then Loki would find it and he would exploit it. With his own death already in mind, then technically that act might qualify as his sacrifice. He valued his own death more than life at the moment. If he were to give up his plans of suicide, would that sacrifice work to power the spell? He couldn’t risk asking Odin about it, even though his knowledge was vast. This still fell within the realm of dark magic and Loki had worked long and hard to cleanse Odin of it. He was nearly done. To tempt him back into it now with research on this particular thing would be to undo all of his efforts and risk never being able to reach this point again. No, Odin would have to be cleansed and never know of it. More secrets. Loki shook his head, setting the book aside as he rose again. He felt new energy rushing through him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time: a glimmer of hope.

With the final items packed and sent off, with the exception of the Vitsmunir Hvíslanna containing the spell Loki needed, he made one final visit to Odin to ensure that the Allfather was indeed cleansed of the taint of evil that had infected him. Odin passed every test Loki knew how to administer. They sat for a long time, discussing his remaining vulnerability to dark magic and how he should never again attempt its use. Loki wasn’t sure he trusted Odin to abide by that prescription, but there wasn’t much he could do to enforce it that didn’t require him to remain in Asgard as his father’s jailer. Loki couldn’t do that. He had more on his mind now than just this.

If he returned to Midgard, to The Warehouse, despite its dilapidated state after the battle with Odin, Loki would still have his research on the ley lines and could tap into them again. He’d done it before. He also still had within him the lingering power from Dimitri’s blood. Despite his exhaustion, Loki had never been a stronger mage than he was right now. It had to be enough. All he needed to know now was whether the sacrifice would be accepted. There was only one way to do that: he needed to pay the Norns a visit.

The Norns were not pleased to see him. Loki considered that fair because he wasn’t glad to be there, either. The three of them resided at the Well of Urð at the base of Yggdrasil. It was no mean feat even getting to them, but Loki had experience using the secret paths along the branches of the World Tree. He’d slipped many times between realms using these shortcuts, and it didn’t take him long to find his way to them by following the waters said to nourish Yggdrasil itself. No other creatures in the Nine Realms had such power over destiny. If any would know if Loki’s sacrifice would work, it would be them.

The discussion rapidly devolved into an argument, however. Loki pled his case fervently, claiming logic was on his side and citing both tomes, which he’d brought with him as evidence. The Norns wanted more.

“How can I give you more than my life?” Loki demanded, frustrated. “There are no others I value more and I cannot make a paradox to sacrifice those already lost to me.”

It was Urðr herself, who represented the past who spoke first in response. “Are they truly lost to you?”

The Norns tended to speak in riddles and while Loki generally found these to be intellectually bracing, he had no time or patience for them now. “That is what I am trying to determine!” he blustered. “Are you not listening to what I am asking you?”

“We hear you, son of Odin, son of Laufey,” said Verðandi, the goddess of present fates. “In this moment, think of what you still have.”

“I have nothing,” Loki growled, tiring of their games. He should have known getting a straight answer out of them would be nigh impossible. 

“Not true,” Skuld, the weaver of that which is yet to come, contradicted him. “You are here, you speak, you have purpose. Without what you hold most dear, we would not be having this discussion.” 

Loki’s brow furrowed for a moment as her words sunk in. What he held most dear? He’d lost everything. All he had now was pain and memories. He looked up sharply. That was it. His stomach tightened and churned at the prospect. They were right; he did value those most of all. More than his own life since he was willing to give them and his life up. That had been a joint prospect, though, the solace of possible oblivion. This was something else. 

“You want my memories of them?” Loki hardly dared speak it. His voice was wary, his stance matching it.

“Only the best ones will do for this sacrifice, trickster,” Urðr cautioned him. “You are violating the spirit of the incantation already.”

“There can be only one point you may influence and while we will accept your sacrifice, we cannot guarantee that your power is enough to achieve the outcome you desire. You know this.” Skuld almost looked rueful as she said it. Of the three, Loki disliked her the least. 

“I’m not asking for a promise,” Loki assured her. “I’m asking for a chance.”

“Choose your moment to strike wisely, Silver Tongue,” Verðandi instructed him. “You will have only one opportunity. You must find the critical juncture that falls within your ability to influence. We cannot tell you when or what this is. Your past timeline is yours to interpret. Skuld has not yet woven into your future and what Urðr has made can be unraveled. Destiny is mutable, yours especially so. We know you sense this in your conflicted heart. Others do not see all the possibilities but you often do, Loki. This is why you will always be torn.”

“I am neither conflicted nor torn on this,” Loki asserted fiercely. “How do I know which memories will suffice?” He didn’t want to give up more than was necessary. All of his learning, his childhood, recent years… he didn’t know what they wanted from him. 

“Your heart will tell you this answer. We cannot.” Urðr’s voice held a note of finality. His audience with them was drawing to a close. 

Loki didn’t have all that he wanted from them, but he had enough. Enough to try. He sighed and nodded. More specificity would have been appreciated. The Norns never had been especially good at providing that, however. Still, he was grateful for their guidance and gave the three of them a deep bow. Loki might not like them, but he respected their power. It wasn’t smart to anger those who could influence your fate negatively. Sometimes it was unavoidable. This was not one of those times and he took his leave in peace, armed with the knowledge they’d shared with him.

Back on Midgard, Loki hesitated outside of the Warehouse. It had been damaged in the fight against Odin and outside of it sat Mjolnir, hidden by one of Loki’s illusions so that none would see or try to tamper with it. He doubted very much any mortal could lift it, but Thor’s death was not common knowledge on this realm yet. If they were to see his hammer left behind, even the slowest of mortals would realize something was wrong. Rain drizzled down, reminding Loki even more of his brother as he finally walked toward the ramshackle building. Loki’s workrooms were on various floors of the warehouse, including a few underground. Those would likely be undamaged and he’d long since moved his most precious belongings and research there for safekeeping. Loki spent the night in the bed he used to share with Thor and in the morning got to work.

Three days later, Loki had an intricate map of his own past timeline with decision branches identified and marked to the best of his ability. Decisions were made every second, of course, and each affected reality on a quantum level. Most people didn’t operate at that level, though, so he limited his schematic to conscious decisions and tried to include even the most seemingly insignificant ones beyond choosing what to eat on a particular day for breakfast. Then he started eliminating candidates. It was a process of taking each identified decision and extrapolating out all the possible branches from it. It was lengthy and complicated and occupied every waking moment of his life. Loki slept as little as possible, barely ate, too focused on his work to break away for either until they became absolutely critical to continue. The map expanded to take up one workroom, then two, then most of the sub-basement in which they were located. It looked like the work of a madman, lines crisscrossing in every direction and notes scribbled along every one of them and at each intersection. Sitting in the middle of it all, his hair lank and eyes sunken at his lack of care for himself, was Loki.

There was a pattern. There had to be a pattern that would reveal itself to him so he would know which moment to choose. He was sitting staring at the mess surrounding him when a familiar voice tinkled behind him. Loki jumped up, startled out of his obsessive reverie by the intruder.

“Harbinger,” he greeted the crystalline construct that served The Agata. Loki’s wards had never prevented it from coming and going as it pleased. Loki had intended on asking The Agata about that. If his initial summons of her gave her rights to free entry indefinitely, he would have to be careful about extending invitations. 

“The Agata sends her condolences,” the creature replied. The Agata always did keep abreast of news in the Nine Realms. It was good for business. 

“Thank you.” Loki bowed his head briefly but his brow creased and his eyes flickered with suspicion. “I doubt very much that she sent you here merely to convey that, Harbinger. She might have done so herself if that was the case.”

“You are correct,” it chimed, as if pleased that Loki had guessed there was more to the visit. “The Agata herself could not come because I bring you this.” The Harbinger folded its shape, opening up what passed for its chest to remove an item. Loki recognized it immediately.

“The Heart of Findua,” he breathed out in shock. “Why?” He, Thor, Fandral, and Kyrmir had made a difficult quest to obtain the icon for The Agata from a Lich king whose realm forbade the use of magic. Loki had made the entire journey bound in cuffs that negated his magic. They’d barely escaped and the residents of the realm who’d helped them had been killed or captured. None of them had been pleased at the cost. The Heart of Findua itself was a magical item, though the tales of it were wrong, or at least incomplete. It might serve as a protective talisman, but it was also a draw of magical energy. 

“The Agata only needed it for a specific use. That time has passed. She is willing to lend you the Heart if you wish.”

Loki blinked, uncertain what use it would be to him at the moment. “I beg your pardon?”

“Here, take it.” The Harbinger held out the glass case in which the Heart, an actual heart, was kept. “The Agata said that you, of all people, would know what to do with it.”

Loki rubbed his eye and pushed his hair back, but stepped forward to take the artifact. “That’s all she said?” He still had no idea what she’d been thinking.

“She also said she does not expect to have it returned because it will be drained by the time you are through with it.”

“Drained? Of what?” No blood flowed through the Heart any longer and hadn’t for a very long time.

“The thing the Heart seeks,” the Harbinger said, folding its chest closed again in preparation to depart. 

“It seeks its mate,” Loki countered, still frowning in consternation. “That’s what created it in the first place. In the Lich’s realm, it was used to-” Loki’s brows went up in sudden surprise. “It’s a battery!”

“The Agata knew you would understand. Good luck, Loki,” the Harbinger mused and blinked away the same way he’d come.

Loki had to seal the Heart of Findua away for the time being since it drew upon his magic and the magic of anyone or thing in the vicinity. It was the same reason the Lich had prohibited magic in his realm. It was an obvious beacon to any who could sense such things. Loki didn’t need any attention as he prepared for working this spell. It took another two days, but finally all the lines of his projections seemed to converge and overlap at one juncture. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was enough evidence for him. The map pointed to the decision to take Mjolnir away and hide it far from Odin’s reach.

Odin had managed to summon the hammer anyway, and it was directly the cause of Thor’s death. Loki knew what he had to do. They had to keep the hammer, had to reinforce Thor’s bond with it instead of trying to avoid it. The mistake had been in thinking they couldn’t overpower Odin’s will to summon it. The hammer had been given to Thor. His bond with it should take primacy, despite the fact that Odin had taken the hammer from him and banished him once before. Thor had proved himself worthy and regained it. It was _his_. Loki could help him strengthen that bond. He’d always resented Mjolnir too much to consider it until now. They could still make the trip to Jotunheim. Loki would conceal the true location of the hammer from Odin and Heimdall’s sight and let them believe they’d taken it away. He would still enchant axes for Thor, but when the time for battle came, his brother would have his mighty weapon and he would have it more than ever before.

As giddy as he was at the prospect, Loki still hadn’t decided specifically what to offer as his sacrifice. Exhaustion hit him hard that night, and he fell into Kyrmir’s bed this time, wanting to rid his mind of his last memories of sleeping next to Kyrmir’s body on Jotunheim. Kyrmir wasn’t here, but his scent was and that would have to do. 

Perhaps it was that scent that inspired Loki’s dreams that night. When he awoke, he knew precisely what the Norns wanted from him. These were the memories he cherished most. Here, the Warehouse, his relationship with Thor, meeting Kyrmir, working with Clint, even finding Fandral. They had been terrible, desperate times at the end, yet underlying all of that there was something Loki hadn’t found much of in his life—contentment. He’d been happy. He’d healed. 

He was going to have to give all that up.

He spent the next days walking through the Warehouse as the Heart of Findua charged. It was linked now with the Earth’s ley lines which ran beneath the building and converged in triplicate there. The web of power was amplified at such points and Loki had learned how to concentrate it further and direct it. It hadn’t even been that hard to integrate it into his system. The Heart required very little in the way of transformation in order to absorb magic. That was what it _did_ , and it wasn’t too picky about the type. Loki, too, sat with the Heart and held it in his hands, allowing it to feed upon his seiðr and the remnants of power lingering from the dragon’s blood he’d absorbed.

So many memories were contained in the Warehouse. Loki touched things, smelled them, wore them. He knew he’d not remember it in the end so he wanted to savor as much of it as he could before giving it up. He remembered the scent of Kyrmir’s cooking, the ferocity of his lovemaking, his laughter. Loki visited Clint’s nest on the upper floor of the Warehouse, slept in his bed curled around his pillow. He traced fingers over the weapons in Clint’s footlocker, committed to memory the shabby condition of half of the furnishings in his quarters, the results of Barton’s dumpster diving forays, Loki suspected. He put on Fandral’s finery, parading around in front of a mirror as Fandral himself might have done. Finally, Loki remembered Thor. Their relationship had blossomed into so much more than just brothers. Loki had never expected that, but it brought him more joy than he’d ever thought possible. It was Thor who had nursed him through the devastating after-effects of Thanos’ torture when Loki was certain he’d never even touch another being again, let alone enjoy it. It was always Thor at his side. He hoped it would be again. While Loki would lose what he’d gained from those years, there was still hope it could be regained again. If they’d done it once, they could do it again. The loss didn’t have to be forever, at least not functionally. 

With a calm acceptance Loki rarely experienced, he readied the spell amid the remains of their lives. 

“O Mighty Nornir!” He called out, the Heart of Findua in his hands above the makeshift altar he’d built for the occasion. “Magic requires sacrifice, power requires wisdom, fate requires guidance. I offer you the healing of my own heart in exchange for the beating of the hearts of others. I invoke the spell of Nithe Ontkenning to undo my failures and humbly request your aid. As payment for this aid, I freely give you the best of my memories which have made me happiest and most whole. I value these more than life itself and more than my own death.”

He didn’t expect an answer, but he got one. Thunder boomed outside and Loki smiled. 

This had to work. 

He started the spell, powering it with everything stored within the Heart of Findua. Without these parts, he didn’t stand a chance. Perhaps the Norns were not as spiteful as he thought.

_“Twist and Weave_  
Spin and tie  
All the threads  
We live and die.” 

Loki chanted raising the Heart overhead, making a clear offering of all it contained. His voice rose as the incantation unfolded, the wind of the storm outside swirling through the broken windows and holes in the Warehouse. His eyes glowed with unholy determination as the ley lines surged through him and the Heart. The spell still required blood so he withdrew a dagger and used it to slice his own forearm. Loki could feel something dark rising to drink in the blood as it fell upon the altar. He set the Heart of Findua down in the spattered puddle of crimson and it seemed to pulse with a grotesque parody of life.

_“Take me back_  
To my moment in time  
All the threads  
Must entwine.” 

The hammer, the hammer, the hammer. It was a mantra in his head as he chanted. Must keep the hammer. The spell triggered on the final words and it felt like being yanked out of his body, then Loki was _there_. He stood next to himself as he conversed with Thor about what to do with Mjolnir. He remembered the discussion well. For a moment, he was simply entranced with listening to Thor’s voice, to seeing him again. It would be all too easy to get lost in the moment and forget why he’d come. Leaning in, Loki whispered in his own ear, the devil on his own shoulder.

_“The hammer is Thor’s. He must keep it.”_

His own voice continued talking, making points about how Odin could also summon the hammer. 

_“The hammer is Thor’s, not Odin’s. He must keep it,”_ spellbound Loki insisted to himself silently. _“Odin granted him the hammer. Odin found him worthy. Use that paradox against him. He cannot contradict his own magic without it all crashing down around him. Keep Mjolnir!”_ Loki wasn’t sure how long he had to try to make his case to himself in the past. 

Thor suggested putting it somewhere it would be difficult for Odin to summon it quickly. Even Mjolnir had travel time. Loki was starting to worry he wasn’t getting through, that the spell was failing. He’d have to pay the price for the attempt even if it failed. Then his own voice spoke up and countered Thor’s idea as he’d done so many times in the past before. This time, though, it mattered more than either of them knew at the moment.

“The most difficult place for him to summon it from should be your own hand, brother.”

Thor nodded and smiled, then clapped Loki on the shoulder. “You are right, Loki, as usual. Will you help me make sure that is true?”

Loki smiled and his consciousness remained in the past just long enough to hear his own reply.

“Yes, of course.”

[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/info/)  
Loki Silvertongue 

[](http://www.roleplaylives.net/blog/22978/rp-index-main-storyline-timeline/#TheGoldenAge)  
MSL - The Golden Age

**Author's Note:**

> You can come check out the roleplay arc in action at:
> 
>  
> 
> <http://www.roleplaylives.net/LokiSilvertongue/>
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Some images sourced from Google images and MCU wiki. They are merely meant as illustrations for the story and the author is not claiming to have created them.
> 
> Edits of mine are signed with my sigil.
> 
> The Jotnar language is being created by me and another author. The reason the 'All-Speak' does not work to translate between what I am called 'Aesir' (the native language of Asgard) and Jotnar (native language of Jotunheim) is because the All-Speak was designed to translate between civilized languages and the Asgardian(s) who created it considered the Jotnar uncivilized, mere dumb animals. There is evidence of this type of thinking in the MCU, so I decided to run with it on this head canon.
> 
> This section is now complete but it is part of a larger story arc.


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